


Not A Wasted Word

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:37:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper is a moderately successful young adult novelist. Her life is completely uneventful, more or less, until the day she goes to her favorite library and runs smack into the new head librarian, Sherlock Holmes. Her life is definitely not the same from that point forward, but in the end she wouldn't have it any other way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing the bar AU I figured I would try my hand at a library AU partially inspired by a prompt from **imagineyourotp** on Tumblr ("Imagine person A of your OTP working in a library, and person B sees them and falls in love instantly, and from there they keep coming back to see person A during their work hours, and check out obscenely large amounts of books just to talk to them."). It doesn't really follow the prompt too closely because every other time Molly goes to the library she gets distracted from checking out books but it's still a really good story, I think.

Molly Hooper loved to read. It had been a passion since she was young, and she was always losing herself in a good book. She had mastered the art of reading as she walked, and anyone who knew her knew there was always a good chance she would have her nose in a book. It wasn't to say that she wasn't social; she had friends, quite a few of them. But she loved the characters in the books she read just as much as she loved her flesh and blood friends. They were all particularly close to her as well.

She loved the local library more than most because of it. She would always go when she had a break, touching the books and debating what to check out next. Mystery, romance, fantasy, science fiction...her taste in books ran all over the map, and she was always enjoying new things to read. She was such a regular at the library that the librarians knew her by name, and they always took the time to chat with her when she came, and she loved getting their recommendations on what to read. They always had such great taste in books, she realized, because they loved them as much as she did.

And in turn, being such an avid reader had made her an excellent writer. She was the author of a moderately successful young adult series, involving variations on classical Greek mythology. Being able to make a living writing things inspired by all the books and stories she had loved as a child was quite fulfilling. Every time she got an idea she wrote it in the notebook she carried around with her, and by now she had enough ideas to continue the series for many years to come. She loved the characters she had created just as though they were her children. She supposed all authors felt that way, to some extent, but she felt it more acutely than most. She was fairly sure the characters in her books would be the closest thing she would ever have to having children of her own.

Lately the books she read and the books she wrote had been an escape from a particularly dreary existence. All her friends were in relationships, from her best mate Sally Donovan to her editor Philip Anderson. And they all seemed to be blissfully happy, or at least content enough that it was all they talked about, aside from Anderson, who usually talked about work. Molly was starting to get uncomfortable being the only single one left. It led to her being the third wheel on quite a few occasions, and she found she was losing herself in her books and her writing more than ever. It was better than facing a reality where she was alone and miserable.

It had been three months since Sally started dating a very nice fellow named Greg Lestrade when the two of them went out for lunch. Molly could see Sally was bursting with news but holding her tongue. With a sigh, Molly looked at her. “You really want to tell me something, don't you?”

“I'm going on vacation,” she said with a smile. “A Hawaiian cruise. With Greg.”

“Oh, that sounds exciting,” she said with a smile. This was a really good thing. If anyone deserved a vacation it was Sally. She had a highly stressful job, and it seemed that Greg had lifted her out of the funk she had been in. Really, she was happy for her friend. “When are you leaving?”

“Two weeks from now,” Sally replied. “We're going for two weeks, capping it off with some time in New York and Los Angeles.”

“I would love to travel someday,” Molly said with a wistful sigh. “It's just no fun to travel alone.”

“There's always a singles cruise,” Sally suggested. “You could meet other people wanting to meet their partner.”

“There's too much expectation in that,” she said as she shook her head. “I mean, you go on one of those and then you spend the whole time trying to impress a bunch of strangers and at the end of the week what do you have to show for it? Failed expectations, that's what.”

Sally looked at her. “I take it the speed dating didn't work out?”

“No,” she said quietly. “And neither did the blind date my landlord arranged for me, or the online dating site. I've gotten zero replies to my posting, Sally. And I've been too chicken to reach out to anyone else.”

“I think part of it is your expectations are too high,” Sally said slowly. “You want this dashing passionate man to sweep you off your feet, and that just isn't how it works. That's only in your stories.”

“That's why I prefer them,” Molly said glumly. “Because at least there the worthy man always gets the girl.”

“I bet if you had that experience happen you wouldn't know what to do with yourself,” Sally said with a chuckle. “You'd be so tongue-tied that you'd forget to speak and would just stare in shock until it gets uncomfortable.”

“Maybe. I like to think I'd be flattered and have the perfect acceptance of their florid proposal,” Molly said with a smile. “That probably wouldn't be the case, but I like to imagine it going that way.”

“You can always hope.” Sally looked at her watch. “Well, I've got to get back to the office. I have three deadlines I have to meet before I can jet off for this vacation.” She reached into her purse and pulled out some money. “Lunch is on me, Mols. We need to do this again next week.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Molly said with a nod as Sally came around to give her a hug which she readily returned. “I'll call you later, all right?”

“Absolutely. We should make plans for a shopping trip to Harrods. I need a whole new wardrobe.” Sally pulled away and gave her a grin. “See you later.”

“Bye,” Molly said with a wave. She watched Sally walk out of the restaurant and she turned back to her dessert. She was happy for Sally, she really was, but she wanted to go on vacations with someone who cared about her too. She wanted more of a life than what she had. She pushed her half-eaten dessert away and stood up, reaching for her purse and her laptop bag. Whenever she felt really down she went to the library to write. She could easily do it at home in the spare room she used as a study, but there was something comforting about being around all those books.

The cafe where they had been eating was not far away from the library, and even though the air was brisk she took her time getting there, taking in her surroundings. She was never sure what would spark a new idea. But this trip left her without inspiration, and she found herself dejected as she pushed open the doors of the library. She looked up and saw John Watson at the counter, dealing with a patron. She gave him a wave and he waved back. He was a good bloke, solid and dependable, but he was also in a relationship with the artist for her books, Mary Morstan. Yet another man who might have been suitable who wasn't available.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to watch where she was going. She collided with a man carrying a stack of books. The books fell to the floor as she landed on her arse from the impact. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry,” she said, putting her hands over her mouth.

“Next time, pay attention to where you're going,” the man said sourly. He knelt down on the floor and began to pick up books.

“Here, let me help,” she said, picking up books as well. Soon enough the pile was back in place, and the man stood up slowly. The stack was not so high that it covered his face, and Molly was surprised to see the most striking eyes she had ever seen. She was mesmerized as she looked at the rest of his face. He was actually quite handsome, and as she let her gaze move down she saw he was lean but slightly muscular. He wore a long sleeved purple button down shirt and black slacks. After a moment she felt him send a stare her way, and when she looked up she saw it was more of a glare. “Once again, I'm very sorry.”

“Don't let it happen again,” he said, moving past her. She turned to watch him leave and actually quite appreciated the view from behind. He walked with a regal grace of an almost feline nature, and it was fascinating to behold. Really, the man wouldn't have been that out of place as a modern day Mr. Darcy, with the looks and the attitude. She should have been embarrassed, but instead she was intrigued. She went back to the front desk and waited there. She looked over and saw the man go behind the desk and set the stack of books down before going over to the computer and checking them in. So. He worked here. He had to be new, because Molly didn't recognize him at all.

As soon as John was done she made a beeline for him. “John, who is the man working on the other side of the desk?” she asked quietly. John glanced that way and Molly hissed “Don't look!” which caused John to raise an eyebrow. “I ran into him because I wasn't paying attention.”

“Not the best first impression,” John said with a smirk. “His name is Sherlock Holmes. He's one of the new librarians here. Bit of a standoffish sort. I was going to ask him if he wanted to grab a drink with me and some of the other staff tonight but I doubt he'd agree, and even if he did I don't think it would be much fun.”

“One of?” she asked.

John nodded, and then pointed to his left. She saw a woman with her hair in an updo, wearing a tight cardigan over a well fitted shirt, and a pencil skirt that ended just above the knee which was also tight. The woman had curves to die for and was extremely beautiful. Molly felt incredibly plain and she wasn't even close to the woman. Right now the woman was looking at a display of children's books in the foyer, chewing on the end of a pair of glasses. “Irene Adler, the new children's librarian. She wanted Sherlock's position as the head librarian but he was more qualified.”

Molly's eyes widened. “Vicki left? Why didn't anyone tell me?”

John turned back to her. “It was quite sudden. Her mother got ill and she resigned from her post to take care of her. Sherlock was coming in for another position and they just promoted him to that one. Apparently he's one of the smartest people in England, but why he'd be a librarian instead of doing something with his intellect we don't know. All we can do is speculate.” He grinned slightly. “Irene already has a reputation. She's quite the vixen, apparently. She'll use sex to get on the good side of whoever is in charge, and they all fall for it. Sherlock doesn't stand a chance.”

Molly glanced over at him. “Maybe he'll surprise you,” she said quietly as she studied him.

“Maybe,” John said. “At least I'm safe from her feminine wiles. Mary would skin me alive if I did anything with her.”

“She would, wouldn't she?” Molly said with a smile. “How is she doing, anyway?”

“Working very hard on the art for your newest book,” he said with a smile. “She quite enjoyed it, by the way. Read bits and pieces to me at night. I think her copy has more parts highlighted of scenes she'd like to draw than it doesn't. Maybe this is the one that will elevate you to J.K. Rowling's status. I think it will, at any rate.”

“Maybe,” Molly said with a shy smile. Praise for her work still caused her to blush and stammer. She simply couldn't accept a compliment graciously. She always looked like such a fool. She turned away from John to look back over to Sherlock. He was oblivious to the two of them. “Could you do me a favor, John?”

“Sure, Molly. What do you need?”

“Could you not tell either of the new librarians I'm a writer? I just...I would appreciate it. You're the only one here who knows, and I'd like to keep it that way.”

John gave her a quizzical look but nodded. “All right. I mean, that's why you write under a pen name, right?”

Molly nodded. “And that's why I don't do face to face interviews. I would get too nervous.”

“Someday everyone is going to want to know who you are,” he said gently. “You'll have to toughen up and get used to the idea of being in the spotlight.”

“Maybe I'll luck out and make just enough to live comfortably and my novels will remain just under the radar. I don't need to be the author of the next Twilight or The Mortal Instruments series. I don't need to make millions of pounds and have my books be hits all over the world. I'm happy with what I have.”

“But you should want more. They're brilliant books,” he said earnestly.

Molly's still lingering blush got deeper. “Thank you, but that's not what I want.”

“Suit yourself,” John said with a slight shrug. “Going to read or write today?”

“Write, if I can. I haven't had inspiration lately.”

“You need excitement in your life,” he said. “Then your muse will come back.”

“I hope so,” she said. She waved at him as she walked away. “I'll probably see you later with a few books.”

“Well, only if you try and check out before five,” he called after her. “I have a date with Mary to go to an art gallery. I know your newest book needs art but she needs a break.”

Molly nodded as she paused to look at him again. “No worries. I can understand.” She gave him a smile. “I'll see if my cubicle is open.”

“It should be,” he replied. “No one really spends much time in that part of the library. Have fun today, Molly.”

“I will.” She turned again and made her way to the third floor of the library. Most of the other people at the library avoided this area because it was a bit of a walk to get up there and it was where all the periodicals were kept. Unless it was a student doing research whose teacher was demanding sources that weren't found on the internet those who went up there remained fairly well left alone. The other regulars had each carved out a niche for themselves out of the cubicles up there, and Molly was no exception. She made her way to her favorite spot and found it was open. Smiling, she sat down and then pulled out her laptop, plugged it in and turned it on.

She opened up her writing program, fingers poised over the keys, but nothing was coming out. Her editor wanted at least the first ten chapters within two weeks, and she had been hating every word she wrote. And right now her mind was not on the protagonists of her series. Her mind was on the mesmerizing head librarian. He had definitely caught her fancy, but no man like him was going to pay attention to a mousy and plain woman like her. A woman like Irene Adler would get and keep his attention, and she would deserve to because she had looks and sex appeal and confidence in spades. Compared to Irene she didn't stand a chance and she knew it. If Irene wanted to sink her hooks into Sherlock it would work according to plan and then the man would be lost before he ever had a chance to be hers.

She stared at the screen for ten more minutes before sighing and closing the lid of her laptop. She needed inspiration. Her own copy of Bullfinch's Mythology was at home so she needed to go pick up the one the library had. She knew exactly where it was; until she had bought a copy for her own use she had checked it out nearly every three weeks. She stowed her laptop back in its bag and made her way to the second floor to the non-fiction section. She ran her fingers along the spines until she found the book she was looking for. As she pulled it off the shelf she saw another book that looked interesting, then a third, then a fourth. Soon she had a stack of ten books in her arms, and she precariously balanced them as she made her way back to her cubicle. If she wasn't going to write today she could at least research. She picked up the first book, an academic tome on Norse mythology, and began to read. She got so engrossed in the book that she lost track of time until she heard the baritone from earlier this morning announce that the library was closing in fifteen minutes.

She looked at the stack of books to her side, trying to pare it down to a manageable amount to carry home, and with a sigh she realized that wasn't about to happen. She put her purse and laptop bag on her shoulder and picked up the very tall stack. She had the path down to the front desk memorized, and provided no one got in her way she'd be fine. She slowly made her way downstairs and was almost to the front desk when someone crashed into her. The books fell from their precarious stack and Molly sighed. This was unpleasant, being the cause and being the recipient of such actions in the same day. Molly looked down and began to pick up books.

“So sorry,” a woman said without sounding very apologetic. “Wasn't paying attention.” Molly looked up and saw it was Irene Adler. “So much to do before we close. Sorry I can't help!” And with that, she was off.

Molly shook her head and looked for another book to grab. “Of course she can't help. Too busy being attractive and flaunting it,” she murmured. And then she saw someone hand her a book. She looked up and saw Sherlock kneeling there. “Thank you,” she said with a slight smile.

“You helped me when it was your fault I was in this same predicament. I find it deplorable she did not.” He pulled the book back and then grabbed some more. “I assume you want to check these out?”

Molly nodded. “Yes. It's for research.”

“Well, I'll help you carry them to the circulation desk.” He stood up after picking up the last loose book, and she followed him as soon as she stood up. He went around the desk and then came over to the computer, setting her books to the side. She set her books on top of them and went to her purse to dig out her library card. She handed it to him and their fingertips grazed each other. She was surprised to feel some sort of jolt when that happened. He scanned her card and then began checking out the books for her. When he was finished he handed her back her library card and then knelt down behind the counter. When he stood back up there were two cloth bags in his hand. “To make it easier to carry,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied. She watched him put some of the books in one bag and the rest in the other and then he pushed the bags towards her. “That was kind of you.”

“Perhaps when you're done with your research you could show me what you're writing,” he said. “I quite enjoy the study of mythology. It's not typically something people think I would enjoy, but since it represents spoken history I find it intriguing.”

“Maybe,” she said, trying not to panic slightly. There were very few who knew she wrote those stories. Did she really want him to know when she barely knew him? She was already leaning towards no. She took the handles of the bags and pulled them off the counter. “Thank you once again,” she said with a nod.

“My name is Sherlock,” he said quietly. “And please, consider letting me read your paper. If you're studying a broad spectrum of world mythologies then I think it might be a fascinating essay.”

“Like I said, maybe,” she said, though this time she gave him a smile. “See you later, Sherlock.”

He nodded in response as another person came up behind her. She didn't risk another glance behind her as she left the library, but she could have sworn she felt eyes watching her. Whatever it was he thought of her, she realized he thought she was a student. This...this was a complication she didn't need, not with a deadline looming. As she made her way to the street to hail a cab she resolved to avoid Sherlock for the duration, at least until she could figure out how to break it to him that she was a young adult novelist. And she had the sinking suspicion that might take some time.


	2. Chapter 2

“Tell me you've got a brilliant idea for this newest novel,” Mary said as she bounded up to Molly outside the coffee shop the two of them frequented. Mary was always most eager when she had a project, and every time she got one of Molly's books she read it in a day and spent the next few weeks bouncing ideas for art off of Molly. Normally the artists were not that involved with the authors, at least typically, but Mary had been a huge fan from the first book. She was really Molly's most ardent cheerleader, and Molly greatly appreciated it.

“Writer's block,” Molly said with a sad smile as she opened the door. The two women walked inside and Molly walked over to grab them a table by setting her laptop bag on the top of the table. Mary set her sketch pad on top of it. “I just checked out ten books of mythology from all over the world yesterday. I have no clue if I'll get to read all of them before I have to meet my deadline.”

“That's horrible,” Mary said with a frown. “Your deadline is in two weeks. How many chapters does your editor want?”

“Ten,” Molly said with a sigh. “And I'm completely stumped.”

The two women got in the long line for coffee. The only problem with going to that shop early in the morning was everyone else had the same idea. Most customers got the coffee to go, so there was usually at least one table open, but the wait for coffee took forever. Mary looked at Molly for a moment. “Could you get an extension?”

“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, I usually write pretty quickly. If I can promise fifteen chapters for an extra two weeks’ time Anderson might go for it. He's really not happy I won't do interviews right now, though. He wants to promote the books more and people want to see the author face to face.”

“Well, crippling social anxiety when it comes to the topic of your books is unusual,” Mary pointed out. “Most authors are publicity hounds.”

“So far he's said it added to the mystique, but I think his patience is wearing thin. He wants the books to be more successful and he doesn't think I'm doing my part.”

“Well, I have the new map designed, as we talked about, and I have some of the illustrations done. If I distract him with artwork maybe he'll be nice.”

“Or he'll just yell at you for not getting it done quickly enough,” she replied as the line edged forward some. “I mean, between the two of us this book and the next one may never come out at all.”

“Well, it was his idea to have the art book to go with the newest book,” she said. “How can he expect art on a schedule? Normally I'm just doing small sketches to sit on top of the first page of each chapter.”

“The same way he can expect ten chapters in a month.” Molly sighed. “There's days I regret ever getting the first book published.”

Mary put a hand on Molly's arm. “No you don't. That's just the stress talking.” She smiled at her friend. “Let's talk about something other than work. Did you meet the new head librarian John's been telling me about?”

Molly nodded. “Ran smack into him and caused him to drop all the books he was carrying.”

Mary winced. “Not the best first impression you could have had.”

“Well, when it happened to me later he came around and helped me out, so there is that,” she said thoughtfully.

“That's nice of him. Which sounds kind of unusual for him.”

Molly looked at her. “Oh?”

“John was saying he's kind of a jerk to most of the people who come to the library. He's heard a few complaints and a lot of 'I really miss Vicki' type statements. I think he just needs to get used to everyone. Or at least I hope that's all he needs. He's the guy in charge.” 

“Is John worried about losing his job?” Molly asked, her eyes wide.

“Actually, Sherlock's nice to him, probably because John makes an effort. The rest of the staff is mostly resentful. They look at Sherlock like an interloper. Everyone thinks John should have gotten the post, but honestly, John didn't want it. Too much responsibility.”

“He's happy getting to help everyone,” Molly said with a smile. “That's what he's best at.”

“It is, isn't it?” Mary asked with a wide grin. “He was actually surprised that Sherlock went out for a drink with him last night after work, and he said it wasn't all that bad. He understands him better, at least.”

“Did he learn anything interesting about him?” Molly asked as nonchalantly as she could.

“He was originally a criminal justice major, and had been interning at Scotland Yard since he was fifteen years old. The Detective Inspectors were actually asking his advice on cases even when he was that young. Anyway, something happened and a year into university he just abandoned his old major and instead focused on library sciences. He said he still consults occasionally, though. Old habits die hard, or something like that.” Mary thought for a moment. “He has an older brother who's involved in Parliament, he plays the violin and he's in Mensa, and he's also single.” Then she grinned at Molly. “I bet that's the part that interests you the most.”

“What? No. Just curious,” she sputtered.

“Don't lie. John saw the way you were staring at him when you two were talking a few days ago at the library,” Mary said with a chuckle. “I gather he's quite handsome?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Molly said with a slight blush on her cheeks. Mary nudged her friend slightly. “All right, he's bloody sexy. And his voice gives me chills. It's this silky smooth baritone. I think I could listen to him recite a phone book and I'd be turned on.”

Mary shook her head. “You know, you could always use this little crush to your advantage. Bring in a character that resembles him. Let Arthur compete with him for Jasmine's attentions.”

Molly was quiet for a moment. “That would be an interesting twist,” she said slowly. “Older bloke, more mature. Because let's face it, Arthur's a bit reckless.”

“A bit? He took on a centaur with nothing but a stick and flattery. The only reason he beat the Minotaur was because he remembered the spell Jasmine had found at the last minute. It might be good if something doesn't go his way for a change.” Mary looked at her friend closely. “And nothing is better for a young adult novel than romantic tension. Look at the love triangle in Twilight.”

“Please don't compare my books to Twilight,” Molly said with a grimace. “You know my opinions on that.”

“And I know your opinion on anything spawned from it, like the movies and Fifty Shades of Grey,” Mary said with a smirk. Then her eyes got wide. “I have the perfect writing exercise for you! Write really bad smutty fan fiction for your novels.”

“They're teenagers!” Molly said, horrified.

“Well, pretend they're adults,” Mary replied.

“I could never write that. It's not like my sex life is something to write home about. Literally, actually.” She sighed. “I wouldn't know how to write a good sex scene if my life depended on it.”

“Well, maybe you could try your hand at self-insert fan fiction with you and some character based off Sherlock,” she said.

“How do you know so much about fan fiction?” Molly asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I may or may not have an AO3 account. And a Fanfiction.net account. And a Teaspoon account,” Mary said evasively. “Because I may or may not write fan fiction based off of certain novels I adore.”

“Please tell me you do not write porn based off my books,” Molly said with a groan.

“Oh God no. I mean, I know it's out there, but I don't add to it. No, I write the smutty stuff about Arcane Society. The modern books, at any rate. And maybe the futuristic ones.”

“Those books already have sex in them,” Molly pointed out. She herself was a fan of Jayne Ann Krentz and had most of her books at home. Mary had been the one to get her into her writing and she had been hooked from the very first Arcane Society novel.

“Well, not enough,” Mary said defensively.

“Does John know you write it?” Molly asked.

“He's in the dark about it, and I plan on keeping it that way,” Mary said.

“I don't know. It could spice up your sex life,” Molly said with a chuckle.

“My sex life is fairly spiced up, thank you very much. Not BDSM like that series you hate with a passion, but it's not exactly what you'd call traditional.”

“And that was more than I ever needed to know about John,” Molly said, making a face.

“You brought it up.”

“And now I regret it.” They moved closer to the counter. “Have you read any of the fan fiction for my series?”

Mary nodded. “There's some of it that's really good, but it's not as good as your stuff. It's obvious you have some very ardent fans, though. People really do love your books.”

“I probably shouldn't read it. Don't want anyone to accuse me of stealing their ideas,” Molly said, shaking her head.

“Probably a good plan,” Mary said with a smile. “But, you know, if you want an AO3 account I do have invites left. Maybe you can use it to write fan fiction of other things. Like Doctor Who, for instance. You're a big fan of that show. I'm sure there's things you would rather have seen happen. And it doesn't even have to be smutty. Maybe it's what you need to break yourself out of this funk.”

“Maybe,” Molly said thoughtfully. “All right. Go ahead and send me an invite. Maybe the next time I get a really bad case of writer's block I'll write something with Eleven and River.”

“That's the spirit!” Mary said as they got to the counter. The two of them placed their orders and then went back to their table. Mary plucked her sketch pad off of Molly's laptop bag. “So, ready to get back to work?”

Molly nodded. “As ready as I'll ever be,” she said.

“Okay then. Here's what I've got so far,” Mary said, and the two of them settled into discussing the art book. Molly relaxed as they talked about it, because it took her mind off the fact that she might only have two weeks to churn out ten chapters and she still had no clue what to write. She couldn't afford to panic right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly got her extension, after a bit of flattery and wheedling directed at her editor. Anderson was a nice bloke some of the time, but he liked his deadlines and he liked results. She had to promise to do some phone interviews to get the extension, and once again he tried to get her to agree to consider doing a face to face interview, but he wasn't successful in his most recent effort, just like he hadn't been all the other times. Every time she thought about sitting in the same room as someone with a camera trained on them she sent herself into a panic attack.

He did mention that there was more buzz growing for the novel she had just finished, though. People were starting to anticipate it. He said a few places were thinking of holding events when the publication came out. It was still months away, and right now he had his hands full with getting the art book done in time, but the idea that people might be counting down to a new book of hers had made her happy. She might not want to be a hugely successful author, but every time she saw someone reading one of her books or heard people talking about it in a good way it brightened her day considerably. The world at large may not know Annabelle Williams was really Molly Hooper, but she knew, and she could appreciate the joy her books gave to people.

It had been three days since she got her extension and she had finally gotten the writing bug back. She'd managed to get a chapter and a half done, and she was taking Mary's advice and introducing a new love interest into the story for Arthur to compete with. The only reason she had stopped the night before was because sleep overtook her after she'd discarded her nine other attempts at the first chapter, but she woke up refreshed and ready to work. She had an idea and she wanted to see it through.

She had just opened up her laptop and sat down with a cup of tea when she heard the knock at her door. She hung her head slightly for a moment before she left her study and went to the door. She opened it and bit back a groan. A visit from her ex-boyfriend could only mean trouble. Jim Moriarty only came around when he needed something, normally money to get him from one audition to the next. He was a failed actor because he simply wasn't very good, but he was charming most of the time and people gave him a shot anyway. She hated to admit it, but most of Arthur's lesser qualities had been stolen from Jim.

“Hello, Mols,” he said with a grin. There was a time she'd melt when she saw that grin. Now she wanted to roll her eyes and push him off her doorstep. “Going to let me in?”

“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “I'm busy. What do you want?”

“I just want to chat,” he said. His accent had been intriguing when she first heard it, but as time wore on and she started to realize just how one-sided the relationship had become it began to grate on her nerves.

“Still trying to make your way as a writer? How very charming,” he said. He pushed his way into her flat and she glared at him. “I'm a bit short for my rent this month. I was wondering if you could help me out? As a favor to an old friend.”

This time she didn't resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Every time you show up on my doorstep you want something.”

“I could always give you something in return,” he said seductively, moving closer.

“Touch me and I'll scream my bloody head off,” she said, putting a hand up.

He pouted slightly. “You used to really enjoy that, Mols.”

She shut the door. “I did a long time ago. I don't know. And could you stop calling me that? Only my friends call me that.”

“But aren't we friends?”

“No. You're a parasitic leech who uses me for money,” she said. “How much do you need this time?”

“Two thousand pounds,” he said.

“What are you renting, a penthouse apartment?” she asked, her eyes wide. “You can't possibly be using it all for rent.”

“Rent and airfare to the States. There's a TV show looking for someone to play a villain, but it films in New York. I've got a lock on the role, I can feel it.”

She was sorely tempted to give him the whole sum and then some just so he would go to the States and leave her alone. If he was across the Atlantic then all she'd have to worry about would be a random phone call in the middle of the night asking her to wire him money. She'd rather have that then the unexpected visits. It was much easier to say no that way because she could just hang up on him. She bit her lip slightly. “Let me go write you a cheque.”

“Thank you, Mol--” He stopped when she glared. “Molly.”

“Anything to get you out of my hair,” she murmured to herself. She went to her bedroom and dug through her purse, then came out and put the chequebook on her table. She reached for the pen she kept there in case she got an idea while eating and quickly wrote him a cheque for two thousand pounds. She blew on it after she tore it out to dry the ink and then handed it to me. “Next time, wait a while before you ask for more money, all right?”

“I won't need any more after this,” he said, coming over and kissing her cheek before she could stop him. She stiffened but he didn't seem to notice. “Thanks again, love.”

“Just go,” she said, pointing to the door. He gave her one last grin and then let himself out. She looked around, the urge to write gone. Jim always did that to her. Dating him had been her biggest mistake, and now she couldn't seem to shake him. She had often wondered what she had done wrong to deserve him in her life. After a moment she decided what she needed was a change in scenery. She went into her study and got her laptop, stowing it in her bag, then went and got her purse before putting on her coat. A trip to the library was just what was needed.

She pushed open the doors, half hoping to see John but also hoping he wasn't around so he wouldn't ask about her glum mood. He, like the rest of her friends, disapproved of her giving money to Jim. But if she didn't he just bothered her more. It was more or less paying him to leave her alone, but the peace and quiet was worth a few hundred pounds here and there. She looked at the circulation desk and saw Sherlock there. He looked at her and gave her a small grin, and she felt herself grinning back before he looked away again. She really should go up and say hello, but she didn't have the nerve.

“Molly!” John said from her left. He was pushing a cart with books from the return bin. “Thought you were having a day at home today.”

“Had a visitor,” she said with a shrug.

“Did he come back asking for more money?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. Molly nodded. “How much this time?”

“Two thousand pounds,” she said quietly.

John's eyes got wide. “ _Two thousand pounds_?” he hissed. “You are not his personal bank, Molly. You've got to stop giving him the money. He just expects you to keep doing it.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know, I know,” she said dejectedly. “Next time I'll say no.”

“I hope you do.” She heard a throat clear behind her and she turned around to see Sherlock standing there. “Sorry about that,” John said. “Just giving my friend some good advice.”

“I see,” Sherlock said.

“I'll let him get back to work,” Molly said, slightly mortified. “I'm so sorry.”

“You seem to apologize to me an awful lot,” Sherlock said with a slight smile. “As it happens, I was just going to tell John that perhaps a conversation like that should take place in the break room and not in public. I don't think Molly would want that aired in public, right?”

“How did you know my name?” Molly blurted out before thinking.

“You're well liked here, and I remembered your name from when I checked out those books for you,” he said. “Just in case you ran into me again.”

She blushed slightly. “I'm still really sorry about that.”

“Another apology,” he said. “I don't really need them. I know generally we don't let patrons into the break room but, as I understand it, you are already fairly familiar with it.” Molly nodded. “Then go there to continue this conversation. You have ten minutes, John.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “Come on, Molly. Maybe Jennifer left some coffee for the rest of us.”

“She made it. I don't think it's safe to drink,” Sherlock called over as the two of them departed, causing Molly to smile and John to chuckle slightly.

They went behind the circulation desk and John opened the door to the hallway. Molly followed him and once the hallway door was shut she spoke. “He said he's going to the States,” she said.

“Let's hope he stays there,” John said. “What did you ever see in him, anyway?”

“He was charming when I met him. Sweet. And then when I let him move in with me, then he let his true colors show. He was the biggest mistake I've ever made.”

“At least he didn't get you pregnant,” he pointed out as they got to the break room. “Then you'd be stuck with him for the rest of our life.”

She shuddered as he opened up the door. “I don't even want to think about that.”

John went over to the coffeemaker and looked at the empty pot. “Someone was brave enough to drink Jennifer's coffee. I'll just make us a fresh pot.”

“It's all right. I was enjoying a nice cuppa before I got interrupted.”

“If you don't mind the bagged stuff I can make you tea. Our kettle broke a week or so ago and it hasn't gotten replaced yet,” John said.

“I can stand it,” she said with a nod. John went to the cupboard and got out a mug and then a box of tea. Molly sat down at one of the tables and hung her head. “I'm a prize idiot.”

“Hey, Jim is a problem with no easy solution, other than for you to stop giving him money,” John said. “If you tell him no and mean it, he might just move on.”

“Maybe I can hire someone in the States to off him,” she said thoughtfully.

“No one ever gets away with hiring someone to murder someone else,” he replied with a chuckle. “You should know that from all those murder mysteries you read.”

“Yeah, I know. Wishful thinking, I suppose.” She watched John put the mug in the microwave and heat the water up. She really didn't like tea this way, but it was the thought that counted. “You all would be better here with a new kettle.”

“Maybe I'll suggest it to Sherlock,” he said. “It would certainly be better than the alternative.”

She smiled at him. “You're a good friend, though. It's not anyone I'll share a cuppa with that's made in the microwave.”

“I try,” he said with a grin. “Are we done talking about Jim? Because I could use your advice on something.”

“I suppose. What do you want my help with?”

“I've been with Mary for two years,” he said after a moment. “I think she's the one. I want to propose to her.”

“Really?” Molly said, her eyes wide. She grinned at him. “Oh, I think she'd say yes in a heartbeat. She really loves you, so very much.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Do you know how you want to do it?”

“I was thinking of presenting her with some new brushes and slipping the ring on one of them, then getting down on one knee when she sees it and giving her a heartfelt declaration of love.”

“Oh, that's brilliant,” Molly said with a nod. “That's the perfect way to propose to her. Plus she could always use the new brushes.”

“Yeah, there is that,” John said with a chuckle. “I'm rather nervous about it all, but then I'm not. Anyway, the advice I wanted was your help in picking out a ring. I'd like to have a woman's input before I put my money down on something.”

“Of course I'll help,” she said, getting up and giving him a hug. He hugged her back. “I have a fairly good idea of what she'd like. We'll get her something she'll really love.”

“Thanks, Mols,” he said as he pulled back. “Maybe next up will be you.”

“I'll be an old maid for the rest of my life,” she said, her smile faltering slightly. “No one's going to want to marry me. Look at my taste in men.”

“You fancy Sherlock. He's not that bad of a guy,” John pointed out.

Molly's eyes widened. “Don't say that out loud, not here!” she hissed.

“But you do, don't you?”

Molly looked away. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“Then ask him out. It's the modern era; you don't need to wait for him to do it.”

“I doubt he'd say yes. What do I have to offer him?”

“You're a good woman, Molly, you really are. You just need to be bold. Take what you want instead of letting life pass you by.” The microwave dinged and John took the water out, putting the teabag in. The two of them went back over to the table. “I hate seeing you miserable. Mary does too.”

“But what if he says no? I couldn't face him again if he said no,” she said glumly. “I mean, what makes you even think I'd be his type?”

“He made it a point to remember your name. There's people who've been here more often than you in the last two weeks who he hasn't bothered learning their name. Hell, there's employees here he refers to as 'you.' But he remembered your name.”

“There's still Irene,” she said with a frown. “If it comes down to the two of us, she's got the more proven track record. I just have an ex-boyfriend who uses me as his own personal ATM machine.”

“You'll never forgive yourself if you let her swipe him out from under your nose. You'll regret it and it will eat you up.” He was quiet for a moment as she looked down at her mug, playing with the teabag. “How badly do you need to write today?”

“I got an extension on my first fifteen chapters,” she said quietly. “Why?”

“Call Mary and your friend Sally and go out. Go do girly stuff.” Molly chuckled and looked up to see him grinning at her. “You have all this money you never spend. Go buy yourself some things that look pretty and give you confidence. Then tomorrow come back and ask Sherlock out on a date.”

“You think that would work?” Molly asked.

“I don't think it would hurt.” He looked at his watch. “I have six minutes left of this break. Want to help me plot out what I should say when I propose?”

“Sure,” she said with a smile, blowing on her tea slightly. She may have appeared calm and peaceful, but inside she was trying not to panic. She was thinking of all the ways this plan could go horribly wrong. They chatted for the rest of his break, and then he bid her farewell. She sat in the break room all by herself for a moment before the door opened again. She turned and saw Sherlock standing there. “I probably shouldn't be in here without John. I'm--” He held up a hand. “Sorry?”

He shook his head. “You apologize for things more than any other person I've met,” he said, coming further into the room. He went to the coffeemaker and then pulled down the coffee. “It's all right if you stay here to finish your coffee.”

“Tea,” she said, holding up the teabag.

He made a face. “You're drinking the bagged stuff? You're brave.”

She chuckled slightly. “It's not like you have an electric kettle and loose leaf tea.”

“Replacing the broken one might not be a bad idea,” he mused. “I might be more inclined to drink tea if we had that.”

“Do you not like coffee?” she asked.

“I don't sleep much. I need the coffee to get through the day. But when it's quiet I prefer tea.”

“I know the feeling. When I have a deadline I drink cup after cup of coffee, but normally I like a nice cup of tea.”

“You're writing a paper, aren't you?” he asked.

“More like a book,” she said evasively.

“That's rather ambitious,” he said with a faint smile. “Do we have enough resources here for you?”

“Oh, more than enough,” she said with a nod. “I've been coming here for years. I wouldn't go anywhere else.”

“That's good to know,” he said, nodding slightly. “This library may have just come under my leadership, and I know there are people who resent it, but I want this to be a place people want to be at.”

“Employees or patrons?” she asked.

“Both.” He turned to look at her. “Before you say anything I know I can be rude and arrogant. I'm working on that.”

She smiled slightly before taking a sip of her tea. “You seem rather nice to me.”

“As I said, I'm trying to be better.” He finished setting up the coffee and turned the coffeemaker on. Then he moved over to the table she was sitting at. “May I?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

He sat down. “You know the people who work here well, don't you?” he asked.

“Everyone except Irene,” she said. She watched his face darken momentarily at the mention of her name. That was curious. “Why?”

“How can I get them to accept me as their boss?” he asked, leaning back in his seat slightly.

“Treat them with the respect you want. Be considerate of them. Try your best not to be arrogant.” She paused. “Do you know everyone's names?”

“No,” he admitted.

She smiled. “Learn their names. Learn how they like to be addressed. And...I don't know. Talk to them like you're talking to me now. You can be a friend as well as a boss, or at least be someone they want to come to if they have problems.”

“You are a very smart woman,” he said with a nod.

“Not as smart as you,” she said before taking a sip of her tea.

“So John talked about me?” he asked with a slightly amused grin.

“More like he talked to his girlfriend and she talked to me,” she said with a chuckle. “You're really in Mensa?”

He nodded. “It doesn't mean much to me. It was something my father wanted for me. I only joined to please him.”

She paused. She wondered if she should ask the question she had. After all, they weren't really friends, and this might be too forward. But she wanted to know. “Was he why you stopped being a criminal justice major?”

“I enjoy the challenge of difficult cases,” he said slowly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. He put his chin on his knuckles. “He wanted me to pursue a career in that field, and at first I thought it was what I wanted as well. I mean, I do still consult occasionally as a favor to old friends in the Yard. But then I decided I wanted to be my own man, pursue what I wanted to pursue. We haven't spoken since.”

Molly's eyes widened slightly. She hadn't expected him to be open with her, or at least that open. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

“Yet another apology I don't need from you,” he said, though he was grinning slightly as he said it. She smiled slightly in response. “But I understand where that particular apology is coming from. To continue the story, my mother and brother stepped in on my behalf to get him to continue paying for my education, and when I graduated from university I moved away from London, going to Oxford for a time and working at the university library. The only reason I've come back is because my mother asked me to. She wants my father and I to mend our dispute before she dies.”

“She's sick?” Molly asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Terminal breast cancer. So far she's not having the best of luck with that. I've been home two years and we're just barely civil towards each other.”

“I'd apologize again but I don't think you want to hear it,” she said.

“It is something to be sorry for,” he said quietly. “I want to make her happy but my father will never accept me as nothing less than the perfect son, and I don't think even my mother can get him to change his mind.” Then he shook his head. “Forgive me for unloading on you. You didn't need to hear my sob story.”

“It's all right, honest,” she said. She hesitantly reached over and put her hand on his arm. He looked down at it for a moment as she squeezed it gently. “Sometimes you just need someone willing to listen.”

“And are you willing?” he asked quietly.

She was about to reply when the door opened again, and Molly turned to look back at the doorway. “Sherlock!” Irene said, a grin on her face and a slightly seductive tone in her voice. Molly saw a brief scowl cross his face as he looked over at her. “I need your help. There's something wrong with one of the shelves in the childrens section, and no one else can fix it.”

Sherlock sighed, then turned back to Molly. “Duty calls, I suppose,” he said sourly. “I guess I'll have to have my coffee later.”

Molly gave him a smile. “Well, hopefully you can have it soon.”

He gave her a faint grin back as he got up and moved towards the door. “It was nice to talk to you. Perhaps later we could talk more.” He made his way to the doorway and exited.

Irene watched him walk down the hallway, then came into the room more. “Whatever you think it is you have with him, it's going to go nowhere,” she said quietly as the door shut behind her. “I have my sights set on him, and I'm not going to let anyone get in the way.”

“You actually think I'm a threat?” Molly asked, surprised.

“I think you're competition. I make things very hard for the competition. Whatever fantasies you're having, stop having them. A mousy woman like you doesn't stand a chance compared to me.” With that, she opened the door again and left, leaving Molly to stare at her mug in bewilderment. This was a very interesting turn of events indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

“She actually threatened you?” Sally asked incredulously. She, Mary and Molly were out shopping for clothes at Harrods. Sally and Mary were friendly with each other but not as close as each of those women were with Molly, and Molly was using this shopping trip as an opportunity for her two closest female friends to get closer. Sally tossed a dress over the door of the changing room she was in. “I honestly didn't expect that.”

“Trust me, neither did I,” Molly said from the room next to her. John's advice to get some new clothes had been a good one. She might not have a figure to die for but she'd found quite a few things that looked cute. She had money to spend and updating her wardrobe would be a good way to spend it. And if it gave her some added confidence, so much the better. “But the way he acts when he sees her, or hears her name...I think he doesn't like her much.”

“She must be delusional if she thinks she stands a chance,” Mary said from the room on the other side of Molly. “John was telling me every time she tries to get flirty with him he gives her the cold shoulder. I'm pretty sure she would have nasty things to say about you but no one would put up with hearing it, Molly.”

“Why does she think I'm a threat?” Molly asked, stepping out of her room to go look at the dress she was in in the three-way mirror. It was good for the summer that was fast approaching, and she thought she looked quite fetching in it. She saw Sally step out behind her in a bikini and then Mary came out in a halter dress. Molly turned to face them. “I mean, I'm mousy and plain.”

“Not in that dress,” Mary said with a smile. “It looks smashing.”

“Everything you've tried on looks cute and fun,” Sally said with a smile of her own. “The woman may have a classic figure and curves to die for--”

“Your words,” Mary said when Molly opened her mouth to protest.

“But you're pretty too,” Sally continued. “Instead of dressing like a schoolmarm or something, try accentuating your cute side.”

“And by cute we don't mean little girly. You can be cute and still look like a grown woman,” Mary said, moving over towards the mirror and spinning around. “You know, a dress like this would be good on a date, Molly. It's nice to go from cute to sexy sometimes.”

“I don't think I could pull off sexy,” she replied nervously.

“Little black dress?” Sally said to Mary.

Mary nodded. “Yes. We need to find the perfect little black dress, emphasis on sexy yet comfortable.” Then she turned to Sally. “Your boyfriend's going to spend more time drooling over you in that then he's going to spend doing anything else.”

“Well, other than keeping me in bed,” Sally said with a chuckle. “Not that I mind. Our schedules don't always sync up so there's quite a few times I spend sleeping alone.”

“What does he do?” Mary asked.

“He's in charge of the criminal justice program at one of the local universities,” she said. “He talked about Sherlock once, because Greg had been a teacher before he became a department head. He said he was sorry to see him go because he was quite brilliant during the crime scene reproductions, but he had not seemed happy doing it towards the end.” Sally went back into the dressing room. “His father was a piece of work, from what he remembered. When Sherlock left his father came in and demanded that they do everything they could to get him back into the program. The head of the program at the time tried everything he could, even issuing threats from Sherlock's father. Sherlock had a huge blowup in front of the entire department and washed his hands of it. Greg thinks it was the smartest decision he'd ever made.”

“You should reintroduce them,” Molly said.

“I just might. I think I'd like to meet this Sherlock Holmes.”

“You might have a chance. John's throwing a party for me for my birthday next Monday,” Mary said. “I can invite you and Greg, and John can invite Sherlock.” She paused, then gave a wicked look to Molly. “Unless _you_ want to invite him, Molly.”

“That's just a bit too forward,” Molly said, blushing slightly. “I couldn't possibly do that.”

“Then we'll just have John invite him,” Mary said soothingly. “And I promise, Irene won't be there.”

“You promise?” Molly asked, looking at her friends once Sally came out with a sundress on.

Both women nodded. “If the little trollop tries to crash she'll be summarily ejected,” Mary said with a firm nod.

“Okay,” Molly said.

“Now, I know this looks good on me,” Mary said, gesturing to her dress, “but I think this would look fantastic on Molly as her little black dress.”

“Yeah, it would,” Sally said with a nod.

“Let me go find one in your size,” Mary said before leaving the dressing room.

Molly turned to Sally and then looked down. “What if I make a fool of myself?”

“You won't. You've already had one conversation with him go very well. None of us will throw you together and expect sex. We all care about you too much for that. We may nudge you two together through the night, but discretely.” Sally came over and hugged her. “It will all work out, I promise.”

“I hope so.”

They finished shopping about twenty minutes later and Molly essentially had a brand new wardrobe. They topped it off with a trip to a salon, and Molly decided it was time to do something drastic to her hair. She had the stylist straighten it with solutions so it wouldn't be so frizzy and then she got a haircut. She made an appointment to change the color on Sunday and when she was done she felt better.

As soon as she had her new clothes put away and the clothes she decided she wanted to donate bagged up and waiting outside the door for pick-up she grabbed her laptop and headed towards the library. She was in one of the flirty dresses she had picked up, and she felt confident for the first time in a very long time. She found herself smiling more and having a more positive outlook on things. By the time the cab got there she was fairly sure she could do anything. She opened the doors to the library and spotted John first. “Hey,” she said when he looked up.

His jaw dropped slightly. “Bloody hell, you look gorgeous,” he said before grinning.

“I decided I was tired of dressing so drab and dour. I'm young. I shouldn't be dressing like an old maid.” she said with a smile as she blushed slightly. 

“If I wasn't madly in love with someone else I'd ask you out immediately,” he said.

She blushed more before looking around. “Who else is here?”

“Sherlock, Elizabeth and Irene. Irene's been trying to get him alone all day to pounce on him and he's not obliging,” he said with an amused grin. Then he spotted Sherlock coming their way. “I think you're about to be used as a human shield.”

“Oh?” she asked, turning around to face him. Sherlock slowed considerably as he caught sight of her. “Hello, Sherlock,” she said with a smile when he got closer.

“Hello, Molly,” he said quietly, looking her up and down. “You've made some changes since yesterday.”

“Yeah. I figured it was time for a new look.”

“I think you look...” He paused at that point, and inside Molly's head she was thinking of any horrible thing he could say and so she braced herself. “Absolutely stunning,” he finished in an almost reverential tone. He looked past her and his face darkened, and when Molly glanced back she saw Irene glaring. Then she looked back at Sherlock. “Would you care to take a walk with me?” he asked her.

“Sure,” she said in a slightly surprised tone. “Where to?”

“Somewhere to eat.”

“I know a good place if you like Chinese,” she suggested.

“That will do. Give me a moment to get my coat.” He went behind the circulation desk into the break room, and a few minutes later he came out wearing a greatcoat over his blue shirt and trousers. He looked over to John. “Irene gets off in an hour. I will be back in an hour and a half. Hold down the fort.”

John nodded, amused grin still on his face. “Got it.”

Sherlock turned to Molly. “Let's go.” The two of them left the library then, Molly slightly dazed, and when they were down the steps Sherlock turned to her. “Do we need to take a cab to get there?”

“We can, but it's actually quite close,” she said. “If you don't mind walking a bit, at least.”

“Walking doesn't bother me,” he said. It was slightly chilly, but not too bad, as summer was starting to make a major push to come into season. She was a little chilled, but it wasn't anything she couldn't take. Sherlock walked quickly, having a long stride, and she had to quicken her pace to keep up. After a block he seemed to notice and he slowed down. “I apologize,” he said. “I keep forgetting not everyone walks as quickly as I do.”

“It's all right,” she said with a smile. “You seemed to want to hurry up and get out of there.”

“Yes. She's attempting to dig her claws into me and I do not appreciate it,” he said darkly. “She is not my type, for one, and then there is my steadfast rule that I do not date anyone I work with.”

“Good rule to have,” Molly said as she nodded. Then she paused. “What is your type?”

He smiled slightly. “Someone unlike her. I've been quite open about my paramours through the years, what few I've had. Intelligence has usually been the main criteria. I like smart women.”

“Are you saying Irene's stupid?” Molly asked.

“No. She's quite intelligent. But she's also manipulative and I think it's all a game to her. She wants job security without having to work for it.” He paused. “At least, not on her back.”

Molly chuckled. “I got that impression, too.” Sherlock gave her a wider smile than he had before in response. It looked quite nice on his face, she realized. “So why did you need me to escape? You could have just as easily walked out on your own.”

“I thought you might be good company,” he said quietly. “And I find I would like to get to know you better.”

“You actually want to get to know me?” she asked, surprised. She was so surprised, in fact, that she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

He looked at her. “Do you think so lowly of yourself that you don't think you could intrigue someone?”

“So I intrigue you?”

He nodded slowly. “You do. The mythology books were the start. Then there was the conversation I overheard between you and John.” Then he paused. “And there was the fact I felt comfortable enough around you to tell you about my father and the whole mess there. I do not share that story with many people.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “I see.”

Sherlock looked at her for another moment before looking away. “If you would rather go back to the library to write I understand. It was a bit forward of me to presume you'd like to have a meal with me. I did rather ramrod you into it.”

“No, it's okay,” she said with a smile. “I'd like to talk to you, I think.”

“You think?” he asked, an amused grin on his face. She could tell he was teasing her.

“I know,” she said with a chuckle. Then she nodded down the street. “Come on. The restaurant's a few blocks away.” She started walking again and he followed, the two of them chatting easily about little things. They got to the restaurant seven minutes later, and he opened the door for her. The hostess took them to a table, and Molly set down her laptop bag and purse on the floor. “I usually get their take-out when I don't feel like leaving the house,” she said as she sat down.

“And you eat here often enough that the hostess knew you,” he said as he joined her. He picked up the menu. “You seem to make friends everywhere you go.”

“I wouldn't go that far,” she said, blushing slightly. “I just find being nice to people has some pleasant rewards.”

“I could take a page from that book,” he said as he scanned the menu. “I'm still a bit prickly. Very prickly when it comes to Irene.”

Molly chuckled. “She's looking at you as prey, as though she's a hunter. She wants to bag a prize, and you don't want that.”

“No, I do not want that at all.” He set down the menu. “I don't wish to talk about her, only because the very mention of her name annoys me. I would like to talk about you instead. How is your book coming?” 

Her smile faltered slightly. She was liking this, liking the whole conversation. She didn't want to lie to him about what she was writing. “It's coming along slowly, I suppose,” she said quietly.

“I hope you introduce something to take Arthur down a peg,” he said offhandedly.

She looked at him sharply. “How did you know I write that series?” she hissed, absolutely shocked. “Did John say something?”

He shook his head. “My mother told me. She's the owner of your publishing house. The business was a gift from my father early on in their marriage. She and I sometimes talk about the books that are coming out. She's most eager to read your newest one.” The waitress came and set down two small cups and a pot of fragrant jasmine tea. “As am I, to be honest.”

“You read my books?” she said, still stunned.

“I'm the one who told her to publish the first one,” he said, picking up the pot and pouring them each a cup of tea. “I've read each one as soon as your editor is done with them. Anderson and I don't always get along, but we both agree this is a series with a great amount of potential.”

“Oh my God,” she said, dazed. He knew the truth. He knew the truth and he was a fan. She had not expected this in the slightest. She looked at him. “Did you know who I was the first day we had met?”

“Not until you handed me your library card,” he said. “I was actually...excited, I suppose. I know your books are young adult novels, but they're well written, and this world you've created is fascinating. My mother had met you, but I had only gotten to read your stories. She had told me you don't like people knowing who you really are so I didn't think I'd ever get to meet you.”

“So this whole time you knew but you didn't say anything,” she replied. She almost wanted to be hurt about the whole thing.

“You didn't want others to know. There is a lot of gossip that circulates among librarians, as I am fairly sure you know. I did not want to have this conversation around prying ears.”

“Oh,” she said. She understood his reasoning behind it, even if she was still just a bit hurt. He was being respectful of the fact she wanted privacy, though, and she appreciated that more than he knew. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said, picking up his cup and taking a sip. “I would be interested to know what your plans are for the next book, if you'd like to share them.” He gave her a smile, another wider one that she found herself returning readily.

“Well, I thought it might be time to introduce another love interest for Jasmine...” she began, and then she was off. They talked about the book for a little while, even as their food arrived, and at points they ignored their meals to carry on their conversation. Soon it moved into more personal topics, and she found herself opening up to him as he, in turn, did with her. By the time either of them looked at a watch they found two hours had passed. “Oh my God!” she said, shocked. “It's been two hours. You told John an hour and a half.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, then pulled out his mobile phone. He pulled up a number and hit send. After a moment he spoke. “John? Yes. I'm taking the rest of the evening off. Could you close up tonight? Leave any paperwork for me to look at in the office.” Then he smiled. “Yes, quite enjoyable. Thank you.” He hung up at that point and looked at Molly. “It seems as though the rest of my evening suddenly cleared up.”

She grinned at him. “So, what would you like to do?” she asked.

“Perhaps we could get coffee and continue talking. Or tea, if you prefer. I've enjoyed our conversations very much today.”

“Okay,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I can take you to the coffee shop I usually go to.”

“Excellent.” He paused for a moment. “And then maybe we can get a drink afterward.”

“I would like that,” she said, standing. “But just one. I'm not much of a drinker.”

“Or we could do something else,” he said as he stood. “Perhaps we could go to the cinema or something.”

She smiled more widely. “I think I'd like that more. When I'm not losing myself in books I lose myself in movies.”

“Hopefully you will allow me to join you tonight,” he said.

She was quiet for a moment, then reached over tentatively for his hand. She grasped it and found his hand was larger than hers and his fingers were long. He shifted the position slightly, threading his fingers between hers. She looked up at him and saw he had a smile on his face, and she found herself giving him such a wide smile in return she thought her face might begin to ache. She hadn't expected any of this, but she was certainly pleased by the change of events.


	5. Chapter 5

As the rest of the week passed and her new deadline got closer she found herself energized and knew she was going to write far more than the fifteen chapters she had promised Anderson. She was happy, much happier than she had been in a long time. Sherlock had asked to see what she was writing as she was writing it, and every time she finished a chapter she e-mailed it to him. When they were alone they would talk about the things she had written, and she found he had some great ideas for edits that she could make. He would have made a very good editor if he hadn't gone the librarian route, she realized.

She didn't spend all her time writing. What free time she had was spent with her friends, both old and new. Mary's party had been spectacular, as John had picked that night to propose to her. She tearfully said yes as everyone cheered. The entire scene had brought a tear to her eye, and Sherlock had moved closer to her and grasped her hand in his. It was nice to share a moment like that with someone else. John had decided to whisk Mary away on a vacation as well, even if it would be a working vacation for her. A few days later Sally left for her vacation, with promises to bring back lots of gifts. So within a few days Molly found herself with only her newest friend, if he could still be considered that. She was starting to think they were rapidly moving into dating territory, even if neither of them had said as much.

She had invited him to her home to read the newest chapter two weeks after he revealed he was a fan. He was looking at the printed pages, reading them intently as she paced behind him, chewing her bottom lip. “I think it's quite good,” he said, setting them down. He looked up at her. “Anderson is going to be pleased at the progress. How many chapters have you written so far?”

“Eighteen,” she said with a smile.

“How do you write so quickly and so well?” he asked, shaking his head. “The few times I've attempted to write something more than a school paper or a report on a case I've given up because it's taken too long.”

“You write?” she asked, sitting next to him on the sofa.

“I've had ideas that I've thought would make good novels,” he said, leaning back into her sofa and looking at her. “I've attempted to write a few, but the process seems more labor intensive than I would like. You make it seem so easy.”

“It's always been easy for me,” she mused. “I've been writing since I was very young. Maybe five? My mother always encouraged me to write, just as much as she encouraged me to read. And my father was my biggest fan. He lived just long enough to see my first novel published.” Her smile turned sad. “I still can't believe your mother is dying. She gave me a chance, and my life is so much better because of it. I owe her so much.”

“You should tell her. She would love to hear it,” he said with a smile. “She looks at each writer in her company as another one of her children. But you...you're one of her favorites. She adores your books very much.”

“That's good to know,” she said, blushing slightly and looking down.

He moved closer to her and reached over, tipping her head back up. “It is very rare these days to see a woman who blushes when she gets a compliment,” he said quietly. “Too many women expect compliments, demand them. You are not like most women.”

“No, I suppose I'm not,” she said, looking at him intently. “I'm old-fashioned. Rather obsolete, I suppose.”

“I like old-fashioned,” he murmured. “And there is no way I would think you're obsolete.”

“You like me?” she asked softly.

“I like you very much,” he said, moving his hand slightly so he could caress her check. She let out a contented sigh and a smile crossed his lips. “I would like to kiss you now, if that's all right.”

She nodded slightly, giving him a smile. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, leaning in more. She did as well, but they both misjudged and their foreheads smacked together. Molly pulled back, horrified, but she saw the smile on Sherlock's face. She chuckled, unable to help herself, and soon he was chuckling as well. He had a nice laugh, she realized. After a moment the laughing stopped, and he looked at her. “We should try that again.”

“Yes, we should.” This time when they leaned in their lips pressed together. She had thought he meant it to be a simple kiss, something to feel out how she would respond, but it quickly turned passionate. She had kissed other men before and never felt such a spark. There was something in this kiss that made her feel more alive than she had in a long time. She felt wanted, and she had never really felt that in a kiss before. And she, in turn, wanted to show him that she wanted him as well. Maybe not in the sexual way, at least not tonight, but she wanted to pursue whatever this was with him. They only pulled apart when they needed to breathe. “I haven't ever been kissed like that before,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

“I'll admit, that was a new experience for me as well,” he said. “I don't think I've ever had a first kiss like that before.”

“You liked it, right?” she asked uncertainly. His response was to kiss her again, and this kiss was just as passionate as the other one. She found herself edging closer to him, and soon he pulled her onto his lap to angle the kiss better. If they weren't careful it might escalate tonight. That seemed a bit too fast for her, even though she really wanted it. Oh, God, she wanted it so bad she ached. But she wasn't about to ruin whatever this was by shagging him tonight.

He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers. “If we're not careful we might take this further than either of us are ready for tonight,” he said, keeping his hands on her waist.

“I was thinking the same thing,” she said.

“You know what they say about great minds,” he said with a grin.

She laughed. “I suppose that's true.” She pulled away from him and then got off his lap, standing up. He looked at her for a moment as she offered him her hand, then he took it and stood up as well. “I think we should go get dinner. Go take a walk or something.”

“No trip to the cinemas,” he said mock seriously. “Too much temptation there.”

“Absolutely,” she said with a chuckle. She went to her room and grabbed her purse, then they put on their coats and left. They were gone three hours, and by the time they got back to her place she thought they could share a goodnight kiss without the need to go to the nearest bedroom.

They made her way to her flat and she frowned. The door was ajar. Sherlock put a finger to his lips and moved over to the door. He pushed it open, then put a hand out to tell her not to come closer. He stepped inside her flat and was gone for a few moments, and when he came out he was frowning. “Someone has robbed your home. But what they took was most peculiar.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, slightly confused.

“All of your valuables are still there, along with most of your electronics.”

“Most?”

“Your laptop is missing,” Sherlock said, pulling out his phone. “As are the papers you printed out for me tonight.”

“Someone stole my novel?” she said, her heart sinking.

“And I wouldn't be surprised if any back-up copies you had on a flash drive have been taken as well,” he said. He looked at her. “Don't worry, Molly. I have kept each of the chapters you've e-mailed me, including the one you had me read tonight. Your novel is not lost.”

“But Sherlock, someone had to know I wrote them, to know what to take!” she exclaimed. “My secret's going to be out.”

He put his phone to his ear. “Not if I can help it,” he said. He moved away to have a conversation with someone. From the sounds of it, it sounded like someone at Scotland Yard.

She sighed. She had her own phone call to make now. She pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed Anderson's number. She just hoped he was still in his office; even though this was important she didn't want to bother him at home. He picked up after three rings. “Philip Anderson,” he said.

“Someone stole my novel,” she said quietly.

“Molly? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it's me.”

“What do you mean, someone stole your novel?”

“Someone broke into my home and took my laptop, and Sherlock is fairly sure they took my back-up copies as well.”

“Sherlock? You mean, Sherlock Holmes? Victoria's son? How did he get involved in all of this?”

“He's kind of my boyfriend,” she said slowly. “He's talking to someone at Scotland Yard now, I think.”

“Well, at least he has some pull there.” He was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. “I suppose you'll have to start all over. Damn it. You got more done this week than I'd expected. At the rate you were going I thought you could have the entire novel finished by your new deadline.”

“Sherlock has copies of all the chapters,” she said. “He's been looking them over.”

“That's the best bit of news about all of this,” he said with another sigh, this one a sigh of relief. “You realize your secret might come out now, though. It might be Stephanie Meyers all over again, the whole mess with someone leaking your book before it's published.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said glumly.

“I know this isn't the way you wanted it to come out,” Anderson said sympathetically. “But you need to be ready for a shitstorm of publicity, for everyone knowing who you really are. I think most people will be okay with it, but there might be the few who don't. But I think they will be very few.”

“Hopefully.”

“You can do it, you know. You're a brilliant writer. You can survive whatever might happen with this book, whether it gets leaked or your real identity comes out. You're stronger than you think.”

She smiled faintly, even though she knew he couldn't see it. “Thank you, Philip.”

“You never call me Philip,” he said with a slight chuckle. “I like it better than being called Anderson all the time.”

“Maybe I'll start calling you Philip more often.”

“That would be nice. Have Sherlock forward you all the chapters he has, then send them all to me. And if you write a new chapter, send it to me as well. Right now I think that's our best bet if we get lucky and no one leaks the novel.”

“I will, I promise.”

“If Sherlock doesn't do it first I'll tell his mother. She needs to know. But don't worry about that tonight. Try and get some rest and I'll call you in the morning when some decisions have been made.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Any time.” Anderson hung up then and she lowered her phone.

Sherlock was just finishing up his own conversation and he looked at her. “Someone from Scotland Yard is on their way. I asked them to make this a high priority, and I offered to help. I need you to tell me about anyone who might know about your career as a writer who might have a vendetta against you. Anyone who might know exactly where to look if they wanted to take all of your work.”

“I can't think of anyone who would have a vendetta,” she said with a frown. “Except maybe Irene. But she doesn't know I write this series, and even if she didn't she wouldn't stoop to this.”

“We can't discount it,” he said. “Who else?”

“I don't know.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Can you think of anyone who might have a financial gain in this?”

“There's always Jim,” she said slowly. “I used to write when he lived with me. He would know where I kept my flash drive with my back-up copies.”

“If it's missing he'll go to the top of my list of people to look into,” Sherlock said with a nod. “I'm sorry someone did this to you.”

“Not an apology I need,” she said with a half-hearted grin.

“Throwing my words back in my face?” he teased, arching an eyebrow. He reached over for her and she hugged him, resting her cheek on his chest. He put his chin on top of her head as he held her close. “We'll find out who did this before your secret comes out. I promise.”

“I hope so,” she said quietly. They were still standing like that when Sherlock's friend from Scotland Yard showed up. Molly went into her home and searched her study and found that the flash drives were indeed missing. The Detective Inspector talked with her for a bit, then had a private conversation with Sherlock as the crime scene team finished what they were doing. And then they left, and Molly was standing in her living room, arms wrapped around herself.. Sherlock was starting to fix her a cup of tea. “I don't want to be here alone tonight,” she said, looking at him.

“I can stay,” he said with a nod. “Or you can stay at my home if you don't feel safe enough here.”

“My landlord won't be able to fix the busted lock until tomorrow,” she said thoughtfully. “If I'm here I can keep my things safe. But I don't really want to be here tonight.”

He stopped what he was doing. “Then we can go to my place.”

“All right.”

“Go get a change of clothes and something to sleep in,” he said. “And anything else you might need.”

She nodded and went to her room, pulling out the small overnight bag she had for when she traveled home. She picked out an outfit for the next day and a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, not really wanting Sherlock to see her old-fashioned pyjamas. She went into the bathroom and grabbed a few of her toiletries and her brush, and then she went back out to her living room. “Ready,” she said.

He took the bag from her as she grabbed her purse, and then they shut the door as best they could. She just hoped no one decided to steal the rest of her belongings, but she was fairly sure her landlord would make sure she didn't lose anything else. His daughter was a huge fan of her series and he had a soft spot for her because of it, being one of the few who knew. He'd keep her home safe, or at least as safe as he could.

Sherlock hailed them a cab and they got in, and he gave directions to his flat. They pulled up in front of a building that had a deli to the side of it and a dark colored door. They got out and he went to the door, unlocking it and letting them in. He turned on the lights in the foyer and turned to look at her. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said.

“You own the whole place?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He nodded. “I inherited it from my uncle,” he said. “I am named after one of my Victorian ancestors, as is my brother. My ancestor made his way as a consulting detective, and this was his home. It's been in our family since it was built. I was the favored nephew so I got the home while Mycroft got certain things that he had expressed an interest in. I've had it for years but I only moved in two years ago.”

“Can I look around?” she asked.

“Of course. I've turned most of the rooms into my own personal libraries. I do have a guest bedroom, if you would like to stay there tonight.”

“If it's not too forward I would rather stay with you,” she said.

“I don't have a problem with that.” He nodded towards the smaller set of stairs. “The kitchen is up that way. I'll make us some tea.”

“Thank you.” She looked around, then went up the larger set of stairs as Sherlock went to the smaller one. There were four rooms on the hall. The first one she opened was the guest bedroom, she assumed. The bed looked comfortable, but what intrigued her were the bookshelves covered with books. Most of the books were new, and there was a large variety of genres present. She smiled as she saw a few romance novels peeking out. She assumed these books were for any guests he might have in this room to read while they were there. That was quite thoughtful of him, she realized.

She shut the door and went to the room across the hall. This room had bookshelves on almost every wall, floor to ceiling. The books here were older, most of which were leather-bound editions. She stepped inside and moved to one of the bookshelves, running her fingers along the spines. There were so many old favorites here, and many books she would love to read at a later date. She glanced at the comfortable chairs in the middle of the room and decided if she had the chance she could spend a lot of time in this room.

She left the room after a few more moments and went to the next room. This one was also filled with bookshelves, though not quite as many actual books since most looked to be bound scientific journals. She also saw many of the books focused on criminology and things that would be useful to solving crimes. There was a small desk in the center of the room, a whiteboard on one wall and a corkboard on the other. This was probably where he spent his time when he was consulting on a case. She went to the desk and saw some photos on it. She recognized Sally's boyfriend Greg in one of them, though he looked much younger in it. She smiled as she remembered how happy the two had been to be reintroduced at Mary's party. The photo showed they had once been good friends.

She left that room and went to the last room. She opened it up and was surprised to see it wasn't the master bedroom like she had assumed. This was another mini-library, she realized. But this room was filled with shelf after shelf of well-loved paperback novels, some stacked on top of each other. They seemed to all be mystery novels, except two bookshelves that held science fiction novels. The chairs in this room seemed much more lived in, as though Sherlock spent a great deal of time here. She looked around and saw art on some of the walls, and she examined one of the paintings more closely. It was initialed with a MH.

“My brother painted those,” Sherlock said from the doorway. She started slightly and turned to face him. “You would never expect him to be very artistic, but he's quite talented. If he had not done exactly what our father wanted him to do I think he would have pursued art as a career. He could have done well, too, I think.”

“He was being the dutiful son,” she said, moving over to another painting.

“And I was the rebellious one,” he said with a slight smile. “My brother envies me at times. I am doing what I'm most passionate about, living the life I chose for myself. He wishes he could do the same, but he is quite entrenched in what he's doing. Too involved to leave it behind.”

“I feel sorry for him,” she said quietly.

“I do too at times.” He came into the room more. “My mother called me. She's saddened by what happened. I told her I had copies of what you had written and she was relieved. She thought you would have to start over from scratch.”

“I am very lucky you're a fan,” she said with a slight smile as she turned to face him.

He went to the table by the chair and picked up a book before coming over and handing it to her. She looked it over and saw it was a hardcover copy of her first book. “One day I think I want you to autograph that. That was from the limited edition run with the full color illustrations.”

“Those cost a lot of money now,” she said, looking at him.

“It's a sign of how popular you are,” he said with a smile. “Maybe if you decide to let the world at large know who you are you can sign it then.”

“I might not have a choice,” she said with a sigh.

“I know Anderson has continuously tried to talk you into going public. I know he wants you to do on camera interviews, and I know you've resisted. I just wonder why.”

“Panic attacks,” she said, clutching the book to her chest. “When it comes to talking about my work with people who aren't friends face to face I tend to have crippling anxiety attacks, to the point where I can't breathe and I can't function. It's embarrassing. That's why I do mostly phone interviews, or ones through e-mail.”

“I'm sorry you go through that,” he said softly. “Have you tried meditation techniques to help?”

“I tried once and it failed miserably,” she replied.

“Perhaps I can show you some techniques that might work well,” he said. “If you have to go public then they would help you to do interviews. The extra publicity wouldn't hurt you, at any rate.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. She uncrossed her arms and handed him back the book. “Is the tea ready?”

He nodded. “That was why I came to fetch you.”

“I'd really love a cup. But I want to do something else first.”

“Oh?” he asked, licking his lip slightly.

She moved closer to him, placing her hands on his chest lightly. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his. This was all really very kind of him, she realized. Say what they might, but anyone who didn't think Sherlock Holmes was a good man didn't know him well at all. She felt his hands settle on her waist, the book digging into her side slightly, but she didn't care as he deepened the kiss. She just wanted to lose herself in the kiss for a few moments, get some peace from the worries in her head. She could deal with all the issues that would come out of the theft tomorrow. Tonight she just wanted to forget it all as best she could, and she got the feeling Sherlock would be a big help in that.


	6. Chapter 6

“I can't believe someone did that,” John said as he, Mary, Sherlock and Molly were sitting in a booth at a local restaurant for lunch. John and Mary had cut their vacation short when Molly called Mary to tell her, and when they got back into town Sherlock suggested the four of them go somewhere to talk. Molly had picked the place because it served food she liked to eat when she was stressed. All four of them were nursing a cup of coffee which tasted slightly bitter after finishing their meals. She usually had tea when she was there but she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, even sleeping next to Sherlock. She would have enjoyed that a lot more if the worries in her head hadn't been so prevalent.

“I will need to take some time away from the library,” Sherlock said. “I know I haven't promoted someone to my immediate subordinate's position, but if you want the job, John, it's yours.”

John blinked slightly. “You want to give me the promotion?”

Sherlock nodded. “I think everyone who wanted you to have my position will be appeased. Even in this short time you've proven yourself to be a good man. I think you will run things well while I'm busy.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said with a nod. “Do you want to tell everyone?”

“I'll call a meeting when we're done with lunch,” he said. “I think you can handle the patrons for a bit on your own, right?”

“It's a weekday and it's only going to be one when we get there. There won't be a queue out the door,” John said with a grin.

Sherlock gave him a small smile back. “I'll finish out the day and start my sabbatical tomorrow. I hate waiting to start but time is of the essence if we don't want her secret getting out. I want to find out who stole her laptop and what they want to keep quiet.”

Molly took a deep breath. “I decided I'm going to go public, before it's leaked,” she said quietly.

All three of them turned to her, wide-eyed. “Are you sure?” Mary asked.

Molly nodded. “That way it comes out on my terms and I can explain. There's a reporter from Entertainment Weekly who's willing to do a phone interview. If I do the interview today it will be in this Friday's issue in the States. My American friends say it's a good publication for it to come out in. Of course, I'll need to do an interview with the British press too, and that one I'll do Thursday afternoon face to face.”

“You're quite brave,” Sherlock said.

“Well, just remember you promised to show me meditation techniques,” she said with a shaky smile.

“I will. I promise.” He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “We need to get back to work,” he said to John. “I'll see you later tonight, all right, Molly?”

She nodded as John said good-bye to Mary. Sherlock leaned over and kissed Molly softly, then he got out of the booth and he and John left. Molly watched the two of them go, and then turned back to Mary, who still looked slightly surprised. “That's new,” she said after a moment, a smile forming on her face.

Molly blushed slightly. “I probably should have mentioned that when I called you this morning.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said. “How long has it been going on?”

“I think we officially started dating last night. But that's only if he doesn't consider the day he took all that time off from work to be our first date. I'll have to ask him next time I think about it.”

“Are you happy?” Mary asked.

“I'd be happier if circumstances were different,” she said with a sigh. “But yeah. The whole thing with him makes me happy.”

“Good. You deserve to be happy.” She reached across the table and grasped Molly's hand, squeezing it. “We should go get some better coffee at our favorite place.”

“God yes. This stuff tastes like it's been sitting in the pot for days,” Molly said, letting go of Mary's hand and pushing the cup away. “I didn't think coffee could be sold that tastes this bad.”

Mary chuckled and was about to speak before her mobile alerted her to a text message. Molly's went off at the same time. The two women pulled out their phones. “Did you just get a text from Anderson telling you to meet him at his office?” she asked, looking up.

Molly nodded, showing Mary her phone. “You got the same message?”

“Exactly the same. This can't be good news.”

“I know.” Molly quickly pulled out some money and left it on the table for the food and a tip and the two women left, stopping briefly to get better tasting coffee to go. It took them some time to reach the publishing house, and the more time it took the more nervous Molly became. There was so much bad news that could come out of a meeting with Anderson. They got off the lift at his floor and made their way to his office. He was not alone. “Mrs. Holmes,” she said as the woman sitting in the chair stood.

“Oh, Molly,” she said, moving towards her. She had not realized it before but she looked remarkably like Sherlock. Now that she knew her son there was no way she couldn't tell they were related. She opened up her arms to Molly, and Molly went over and gave the older woman a hug. “You should know by now it's Victoria. Especially now that you're dating my son.”

Despite it all Molly smiled a bit as Victoria hugged her back. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Victoria and I made some decisions outside of the one you made yourself,” Anderson said. “But we need to push the timetable up. Someone has threatened to leak the book if they're not paid off.”

Molly's eyes went wide as she pulled away from Victoria. “How much do they want?” she asked.

“Five hundred thousand pounds,” Victoria said. Molly went to the chair across from the one Victoria had been sitting in and sunk into it, dazed. “I'm waiting to hear back from my son, but we're going to use it to set a trap. Or at least that's what Philip and I want to do. If we can at least recover what's been written you might not need to reveal your true identity. We all want to see the person who did this get into serious trouble for it.”

“I should still go public,” Molly said. “I mean, what if this happens again? What if someone else uses my secret to extort money from the publishing company? Or me? I can't go through this again.”

Victoria sat down across from her and reached over, patting her hands gently. “It's your choice. But if we can get the chapters back, you can do it on your own terms, in your own time.”

“But he'll still know. There will still be someone out there who knows the secret. And all it would take is a phone call.” Molly looked at Anderson. “The Entertainment Weekly writer. Do you think they could publish the article tomorrow, on their website?”

“Like a breaking news type deal?” Anderson asked. “I could ask. We could issue a press release today and send them a copy, and offer them the exclusive interview. Right, Victoria?”

Victoria nodded. “We don't need to mention the theft, I don't think. I know your agent would normally handle all this, Molly, but as it's an emergency...”

Molly shook her head. “She already said to do whatever we needed to do. She'll field calls and repeat what's in the statement until the interview comes out.”

“Then that's what we'll do,” Anderson said. Then he turned to Victoria. “Do you want to write the press release or should I?”

“I think we both should.” Victoria turned away from him to Mary. “We may need to move up publication of both the novel and the art book, use this publicity to our advantage. Do you have any of the art colored?”

“Some of it. I was coloring it when I couldn't come up with new sketches. And if you don't mind the rest being black and white, I think we might have enough for the book.”

“Then bring it all in today and we'll start working on it,” Anderson said with a nod. “Let's meet back here in two hours so we can start looking at the art and you can go over the press release, Molly. See if it meets your approval. And then we'll see if we can get a photo of you to attach to it.”

“In the meantime I'll keep trying to reach my son,” Victoria said. “Is he at work right now?”

Molly nodded. “It would probably be best to call the circulation desk. He was going to have a meeting when he got there so he probably has his phone off.”

“I'll make that call now,” Victoria said, reaching for her purse and pulling out her phone. “Hopefully his meeting is over by now.”

“I'll go get the art and see if I can't finish the last few sketches in two hours,” Mary said.

“I'll go with you,” Molly said.

Mary nodded. “We'll be back in two hours.” With that, the two women left, and when they made it back to the lift that was when Mary spoke again. “That could have gone a million times worse,” she said, giving Molly a smile.

“Yeah, it could have,” Molly said with a nod. “I'm very lucky.”

“We both are. Remember, my name is attached to these books too.” Molly smiled at her. “Sherlock will get the bastard who did this. I have faith in him.”

“I do too,” Molly said quietly. They remained lost in their own thoughts as they left the building and got into a cab, and they didn't talk much once they got to Mary and John's flat. Molly hadn't seen all the art so she looked it over as Mary worked to quickly finish the half done sketches. Molly forgot sometimes what a brilliant artist Mary was. “I'm sorry you had to work on your vacation,” Molly said after a half hour.

“We didn't actually leave the cottage,” she said with a smile. “As you don't want to hear any more about my sex life I'll leave that to your imagination. But it was nice to have the change of scenery. I used some of the landscape I had seen on my way there for some of the bits I sketched of the places you write about.”

“You do such a good job for the art.”

“It helps that I love the books as much as I do.” She hesitated slightly, then lowered her charcoal stick and set it next to her easel. “Are you sure you're doing the right thing? Revealing who you are?”

Molly nodded. “I am. I thought I could keep going, keep keeping it a secret, but it's just going to cause more problems in the future. If I kept trying to keep it quiet someone could do this all over again. They might publish fake chapters or publish falsehoods and I don't want that. If I'm honest now and I come clean about the panic attacks and the need for privacy so that I don't have _more_ panic attacks I think people will understand.”

“Well, just remember you're not doing this alone. John and I are here for you, and I'm pretty sure Sherlock is, too.”

“Did you know he has one of the limited run novels of the first book with the full color art?” Molly said, picking up a colored sketch. “He said one day he might ask me to autograph it.”

“It will be nice to sign it with your real name, I bet,” Mary said with a smile. “I think he's going to be a good guy for you, Mols. I wouldn't have expected it when John first started telling me about him, but he genuinely cares about you, I think. He's not another Jim.”

“God, I hope not. I'd be heartbroken if I made that mistake again.” Molly set the sketch down and went over to Mary, hugging her shoulders. “You're one of my best friends, you know that, right?”

Mary grabbed her arm with her hands and squeezed. “Yeah, well, you're my best mate aside from John. Us girls need to stick together.”

Molly chuckled. “Yeah, we do. Keep the men in line.”

Mary laughed. “I don't know how much we need to do that, but sometimes we need to. As long as we remember they have to humor all our quirks. They probably need a boatload of patience for that.”

“I think they have patience in spades,” Molly said. “You're very lucky with John. I'm glad you said yes to marrying him.”

“I am too.” Mary let go of Molly arms and Molly stood up. “Do you still think you're going to die an old maid?”

Molly shrugged slightly. “Maybe. I hope not, though.”

“I think Sherlock's going to be around for a very long time,” Mary said as she picked up her charcoal stick again. She turned back to her art. “And I don't think that's a bad thing at all.”

“I don't either,” Molly said with a smile. Her mobile rang and she went to her purse, pulling it out. “Speaking of Sherlock...”

“I'll try and ignore your conversation,” Mary said with a grin, turning back to her art.

Molly answered the phone and put it to her ear. “Hello,” she replied.

“We have a plan in place,” he said. “But I need your help. The note that Anderson received said you needed to be the one to deliver the money. They want it at six PM at a certain Underground station. Are you willing to do it?”

“Of course. I want to catch the wanker who thought he could get away with it,” she said. “What do you need me to do?”

“Go back to the publishing house and take care of your business there. I will meet you there at five thirty. The station they want to do the exchange at is fairly close to there.”

“All right.”

“Try not to be nervous. We'll catch him and we'll get your novel back.”

“Thank you again, Sherlock.”

“It's the least I can do,” he said. “I will see you in a few hours.”

He hung up then and Molly looked at her phone. “I have to make the drop,” she said to Mary.

“Are you okay with that?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Molly nodded. “I want to get this over and done with.”

“Hopefully this will be the end of it,” Mary said.

“I hope so.” Molly let Mary get back to her art then, and then the two of them took all the finished art back to the publishing house. Mary, Anderson and Victoria started going over it as Molly paced. In two hours she would know who stole her laptop and who wanted to out her to the world. She was not a violent person, not at all, but she wanted to punch the person. Or at least slap them. She probably wouldn't do either, but the urge was there.

As it got closer to five thirty Victoria pulled herself away from the meeting. “My son will make sure no harm comes to you, if that's what you're worried about,” she said with a smile, pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot Molly had made twenty minutes earlier.

“I am, but it's more than that. It had to be someone who knew me. I can't believe someone would want to hurt me like that,” she replied.

“The world is full of people who deserve to go die in a ditch,” she mused.

“And then there's people like you who don't deserve to die at all,” she said quietly.

Victoria's smile turned sad. “I see he told you,” she said with a slight sigh. “No one outside my family knows. We want to keep it as quiet as we can until it becomes apparent I will not last much longer.”

“How long do you have?”

“They aren't sure. Anywhere from six months to a few years. There's homeopathic things I am trying that might extend my lifespan a bit, but I will probably be dead within the next three years. It hasn't spread beyond my breast just yet, but that could change at any moment.”

“I'm so sorry,” Molly said.

Victoria reached over and patted her cheek. “I know.” Then she smiled slightly. “Sherlock said you have a habit of apologizing a lot.”

Molly chuckled. “I guess I do. Bad habit, I suppose.”

“Make my son happy,” she replied. “I don't know if I will ever get him and his father to talk again, but as long as I know he's happy I can die in peace. And I think you can do that. I haven't seen him so alive in a very long time, not since he was a boy. Did you know the day he met you he called me and he was so excited about it? If I had known he would have had that reaction I would have introduced you years ago.”

“I think it's all right that you didn't,” Molly replied. “Maybe we had to do it on our own for it to go the way it did.”

“Maybe.” Victoria took a sip of her tea. “I hope to get to know you better, in what time I have left. Of all the people involved in this business, you've always been my favorite, you and Mary. You two work so well together, and it's a pleasure to see the fine work you put out.”

“Was the art book your idea?”

Victoria nodded. “Philip was against it, at first, but when I explained it he warmed to the idea. I let him take the credit, of course. No one needed to know it was my idea.” She looked out the window at the city below. “He's going to take over, when I go. He's good at what he does, but I think he could also do very well running this place. Sherlock doesn't like the idea because the two of them really don't like each other, but it's my company and I'll do what I please with it. I'm going to make him promise to keep editing your books, though. He does a brilliant job with them.”

“Does he know that he's going to inherit this company yet?”

Victoria smiled. “I'm going to keep him in the dark for a bit. He might be the next person outside of my family to learn the truth, only because we need to make plans.” She glanced back at him and Mary. “I think this company will be around for a long time to come.”

“I hope so.” The two women lapsed into silence at that point, and after a few moments Victoria went back to the meeting. Molly continued to look out the window, watching the sun set on the horizon, until she heard someone come up behind her. She felt a hand go on each shoulder and she knew without turning around that it was Sherlock. “I've always liked the view from here,” she said quietly.

“Anderson did get the best office,” Sherlock said.

Molly chuckled. “I don't know. I've always liked your mother's office a lot. It reminds me of one of your personal libraries.”

“Where do you think I inherited my taste from?” he said in an amused tone. She turned to face him and saw his amused smile turn into a more serious look. “It's time to go.”

“I know.”

He framed her face in his hands. “I won't let any harm come to you.”

She smiled at him. “I know that, too.” He let go of her face and she took his hand in hers. She glanced at Victoria and saw she had a wide smile on her face. “I'll see you guys later,” she said.

Sherlock let go of Molly's hand long enough to go kiss his mother on the cheek. “Make sure she stays safe,” Victoria said.

“I will. I promise,” Sherlock said. He nodded to Anderson and Mary, then went back to Molly, offering her his hand again. They left the office and got into the lift, Sherlock beginning to go over the plan he and his friend at Scotland Yard had concocted. They left the building when they got down to the ground floor and the closer to the station they got the more nervous she became. Sherlock had picked up the satchel she was to carry the money in from the security office on the ground floor and she found her grip on it to be so tight her knuckles were turning white. She got into position before looking at her hand, and she made a concerted effort to loosen her grip. She glanced at her watch and saw it turn six. She hoped she didn't have to wait long.

“Hello, Mols.” She turned to see Jim standing there. He had on an impeccable suit, much better quality clothing than she was used to seeing on him. He turned around in a circle. “You like?”

“Why did you do it?” she asked, hoping the microphone she had on picked up their conversation.

“For the money, of course,” he said. “I know how you write. I got a hold of one of your books and recognized your style. I could keep going on, begging you for money, or I could go for the big prize. I've decided the life of a struggling actor isn't for me, I'm afraid.”

“It's because you'he got absolutely no talent,,” Molly said, glaring at him.

He glared back. “I could say the same for your piss poor writing skills. The only reason you're successful is there's no more Twilight books coming out.”

She straightened up slightly. “I'm a much better writer than you are an actor.”

“I don't think so.” He reached for the satchel. “Your publishing company will make another payment to me in a month's time, and then another one after that. You'll make a payment until I decide to give the book back. I mean, you _could_ rewrite everything, but eighteen chapters is so much. You'd have to change your plot if I decided to send it to a tabloid publication with the news that mousy little you is really this semi-successful author.”

Molly handed him the satchel. He opened it and frowned, then looked up at her. She smirked at him. “Newsflash, Jim. We published a press release today and I already did an interview revealing my true identity. It runs on Friday. And if I have to rewrite the whole damn book I'll do just that. You lose.”

“You were supposed to pay me!” he yelled, reaching into the satchel and pulling out the fake money. He dropped the satchel and came towards her menacingly. Molly took a step back, alarmed, but then Jim was spun around and the lapels of his suit jacket were grabbed. “Who are you?” Jim asked.

“Someone you never should have angered,” Sherlock said menacingly. He pulled Jim closer. “Where are the chapters?”

“I don't have them!” Jim said, panicking slightly as a crowd began to gather around them. Molly recognized the Detective Inspector who had come to her home the night before keeping an eye on Sherlock and Jim while other policemen kept the crowd at bay. “She wanted the laptop and the flash drives!”

“Who did?” Sherlock asked, his voice soft and deadly.

“Irene!” he said. “Irene Adler wanted them. She paid me for snatching the laptop and anything that might have the new book on it. But it's not worth jail time. Make me a deal.”

“Unfortunately for you, I am not a Detective Inspector,” Sherlock said, abruptly letting him go. He stumbled backward slightly and Sherlock's friend came over to him. “He is, though, and I think he'd like to have a nice chat with you.” Jim looked at the policeman, then hung his head dejectedly and the Detective Inspector put Jim's hands behind his back. He handcuffed them together and led him off. Molly removed the microphone and recorder and handed it to another policeman, who put it into an evidence bag. Sherlock stood nearby Molly. “You were very brave,” he said quietly.

“I feel like I'm going to faint,” she said.

“Perhaps we should get you to sit down,” he said with a frown. He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her away from the crowd back up the stairs to the street level. Once she felt fresh air on her face she began to feel better. There was a cafe nearby and he guided her into it and made her sit down at a table before he placed an order for a pot of tea. He looked at her closely once the waitress left. “Do you feel better?”

“I'll feel better once I've had some tea,” she said, giving him a shaky smile.

“It will be here shortly.” He leaned back in the seat slightly. “It appears that there was both a financial motive and a personal vendetta involved. I had thought it might be one or the other, but not both.”

“I can't believe she was willing to ruin my career over all this,” Molly said quietly. “I mean, she'd threatened me, but I didn't think she'd go that far.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked quietly.

“Because I didn't think she'd do this,” she said. “I didn't think she'd go after my career.” The waitress came with a pot of tea and two cups. She set them on the table and Sherlock looked at the tea. Molly could see it still needed to steep a bit. “Why were you so important to her?”

“As you said the day we had lunch together, she saw me as prey and saw herself as a hunter. You denied her her trophy kill.”

“What's going to happen to her?” she asked.

“She and your ex-boyfriend are going to be arrested and detained. There will be a trial, which you will most likely need to testify at. If we're lucky they will serve some time in jail. If not, they'll walk away with a slap on the wrist. Moriarty might be able to make a deal if he testifies against Irene, but there is always the chance one will never get offered to him. I will see if I can make sure that's the case.”

“So it's over?” she asked. “I mean, until the trial.”

He nodded. “Once Irene is arrested, yes. I rather hope she was stupid enough to keep the laptop and the flash drives.” He paused. “Even if she did, it will be considered evidence. You may not get it back for some time.”

Molly sighed. “Great. I get to buy a new laptop now. I have to download all the programs again and everything.”

Sherlock smiled slightly. “It could be worse.”

“How?” she asked.

“It could have been someone else entirely behind it and you would have to fight Irene for my affections.”

Molly looked at him. “I thought she wasn't your type.”

“She isn't. But as long as she deluded herself into thinking she could have me she would have been an issue.” He looked at the tea again and saw it was ready, so he poured them both a cup. “I wouldn't have paid her any attention in that way, but she would have tried to seed doubt in your mind and if that didn't work she would have made your life hell. As we have learned, she is a very vindictive person.”

“I suppose.” She picked up her tea and took a sip. “Thank you, again. For all of this.”

“I am starting to think your thank yous will become like your apologies,” he said with an amused smile. “I would much rather have your thanks, I think.”

She smiled at him. “Then I'll remember to thank you every day.”

“You could just dedicate your next book to me,” he said.

“Maybe I will,” she said.

“Maybe?” he asked, making a mock disappointed face. “I'm hurt.”

She laughed, the first real laughter she'd felt like having since the night before. “All right, all right. You'll get a nice florid dedication in my next book.”

“I can live with that,” he said with a smile. “You seem to feel better now.”

Her laughter tapered off into a chuckle. “I think I am,” she said. “I won't feel a hundred percent better until I know Irene's locked up too, but it's a start.”

“Good,” he said with a nod before taking a sip of his tea. She brought her own cup to her lips and had a drink. This had the best possible outcome, she realized. For once, everything worked out the way it should.


	7. Chapter 7

**One Year Later**

Molly stood in the doorway of her new study. Over the last year so much had gone on, so many things worth celebrating, and a few things to mourn. She had experienced more in the last year than she felt she had experienced in all the years prior. There had been a trial and a marriage, a death and news of a pregnancy, another engagement and finally her own step to something more lasting in her own life.

After Molly had done the interview with the American magazine people all over the world picked it up. She had feared at first that most people would be displeased that she had lied to them for so long, but generally people understood. The next interview she did was a face to face one, and the interviewer had said she had read the article and would take things slowly to keep Molly from panicking. More interviewers who followed were like that, and she found herself slowly getting more comfortable. They had started with print journalists as she worked on controlling the panic well enough to do an on camera interview. When her new novel came out she decided to take the plunge and accept an offer to be on Graham Norton's show. It helped that her friends sat in the front row, offering silent support, and she made it through without a panic attack. They had celebrated with good food and good drinks afterward.

The art book was a smash, as was her new novel. People loved the twist with the new love interest for Jasmine and the twist on mythology used. There were still elements of Greek mythology there, but she had incorporated something from Norse mythology and that addition was well received. Sherlock had gifted her with copies of the first ten books she had checked out from him to add to her collection of possible story ideas, and she had appreciated the gift more than she could tell him. For the next novel she was considering tossing in more Norse influences and maybe some Celtic mythology as well. When she went over the ideas with her core group of cheerleaders everyone said it sounded great.

She had attended her first autograph signing at a midnight release party at one of the largest bookstores in London. Each of her friends had stood in line with a copy of the new novel and a copy of the art book to get Molly and Mary's autographs. Sherlock had both as well as the book he had asked her to sign the first time she was in his home, and she signed that book with a particularly lovely short phrase. As soon as Sherlock read it he leaned over and kissed her in full view of everyone else. After all, how else is one supposed to react to a declaration of love, she had thought to herself. It had elicited cheers from everyone else in line and she was left blushing for the rest of the autograph signing session.

Next was Mary and John's wedding. They had not wanted a long engagement, especially when Mary announced news that she was pregnant, so there had been a whirlwind trip to the States and a beachside wedding in Hawaii. Molly had been the maid of honor and Sherlock had been the best man, and it was honestly the best wedding she had ever attended. She'd seen how much love there was between them and how happy they were and she couldn't help but be happy for them. Mary had pulled her aside and said she hoped that if Sally and Greg weren't next than it would be her. She cast a glance at Sherlock at that point, who was busy talking with John and Greg, and said maybe if she was lucky that would be the case.

The trial came next, and it had happened with surprisingly little press. She had talked about the theft in interviews, but she had never gone into details. Surprisingly the press didn't reveal anything lurid while it was going on, and she had been pleased by it. Molly had thought the idea of her ex-boyfriend stealing her unfinished novel to give to the woman who hated her for getting the guy would sell a lot of papers and magazines. But she supposed the press liked her now, and as she had been somewhat open about her desire for privacy in the matter they had respectfully obliged. She was quite thankful for that. No leniency was given to either Jim or Irene for the crimes. Granted, the sentences were not dire, but there was jail time. She had been called upon to testify, as had Sherlock, and she had felt a sense of satisfaction as the sentences were handed down. If she was lucky she would never have to see either of them ever again.

She had her next novel come out, the one that had been stolen, and it too was a smash. It was maybe a week later when Victoria's health took a drastic turn for the worse. Molly and Sherlock were frequent visitors to his childhood home, being there for Victoria as much as they could. She had held on long enough to see the book become a New York Times bestseller, the first of Molly's books to ever do that, and she died in her sleep with her husband by her side. The funeral was a somber affair, attended by many important people in the publishing world as well as many famous authors. The only good to come of it all was she had lived long enough to see Sherlock and his father start to reconcile. While initially they had only done it to make her happy it still held after the funeral. The first time his father visited him at work and had seen him doing what he loved had been the first sign that their glacial relationship was thawing.

In the midst of the bad news had come a bright spot for one of Molly’s friends. Sally and Greg had gone on a trip to Paris for a romantic getaway and he had proposed in front of the Eiffel Tower. Sally was radiantly happy when she returned, just as Mary had been when John proposed. Currently Molly was helping plan another wedding where she was going to be the maid of honor, and she had to admit she was having quite a bit of fun doing it. They were sparing no expense, and it was nice to get to plan something festive with a large budget. She spent a little more time thinking about the idea of her getting married, more than she had before, and because of that she had made a decision that led to her having a new residence.

She moved more into the room, looking at all the leather-bound books on the bookshelves. When she had suggested to Sherlock that maybe it might not be a bad idea to live together, he had agreed even before she finished explaining why it would be a good idea. It had taken some planning, and there was a lot of shifting of things and getting rid of some items and general compromise as to what went where, but as of ten minutes ago she was officially in her new residence. She looked lovingly at the desk she had brought from her own home, which now sat in the center of her favorite room of the house. To be surrounded by so many stories she loved made for a nice change from her old study. She went to the desk and looked at the photographs on it, smiling.

“This room suits you far more than it did me,” Sherlock said from the doorway, leaning against the frame. “These books had all belonged to my uncle. It was his private collection.”

“I'm almost afraid to read them,” she said with a smile, moving from behind the desk and going to a shelf. She looked at the titles and picked up a copy of Emma. “These have all got to be worth a fortune.”

“Some are,” Sherlock said with a nod as he came into the room. “But consider them my gift to you.”

Her eyes widened. “Sherlock, you can't do that! It's too much.”

“Your passion lies in the types of books in this room. The classics that you consider old friends, the new adventures you haven't had yet. As long as you treat them lovingly you'll be able to read them to your heart's content.” He went over to one of the bookshelves that had been cleared off and fingered the books there. “Do you think this will be enough room for all your inspiration?”

“I'll have to make do. It pained me enough to have to box those other books up,” she said. “But you keep buying me books on mythology and I have to have a place for them.”

“Some were bequeathed to you by my mother, remember?” he said, moving next to her.

“Yes, I know,” she said sadly. She put the book in her hands back and went to the mythology books, fingering some of the ones she had gotten in Victoria's will. Victoria had left her other things as well, such as some ownership in the company Anderson now ran, and she was grateful for that. Still, it hurt to know she wasn't around anymore. If it hurt her this much she could only imagine what Sherlock felt about the whole thing. She picked up a well-worn copy of a book on Celtic mythology. “I hope to write many more novels in this room,” she said as she turned back to him, pasting a smile on her face.

“I think that would be very nice,” he said, taking the book out of her hands and putting it back on the shelf. “How close are you to finishing the newest one?”

“About two-thirds of the way done,” she said, her smile becoming more genuine. “Which reminds me, I should probably try and write more today. Philip wants at least another five chapters within two weeks.”

“He _does_ understand you just moved in with me, right?” he said.

“Well, yes, he does,” she said quizzically. “But I'm settled and I can get back to writing.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“Did you have other plans, Sherlock?” she asked, reaching over and placing her hands on the front of his shirt, curling her fingers slightly and bunching the fabric up under her fingertips.

“I had thought we could go to the bedroom and spend some time there. Discussing things,” he said, settling his hands on her waist.

“Such as?” she asked, looking at him.

“Such as how you might feel about marrying me in the near future,” he said quietly.

She was dumbstruck. She didn't think it was too soon, not really. Their relationship felt solid and dependable, something she knew she could count on. The truth was, with planning Sally's wedding she had started to hope that maybe it would happen for her, maybe sooner rather than later. “Are you proposing to me?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“I had planned on doing it another way. The ring is in the bedroom. I was going to wait until after we had been intimate and then propose there. But I suppose that yes, I am proposing to you.”

“Then I accept,” she said with a wide smile, using her grip on his shirt to pull him down to kiss him soundly. The kiss quickly became heated, as it usually did between them, and so when he pulled away she was surprised. She thought he had been enjoying it. But then he knelt down slightly and picked her up off the ground. “What are you doing?” she asked, amusement in her eyes.

“Taking you to bed,” he said with a grin. “I think the writing can wait for a bit, can't it?”

She laughed. “Yes, Sherlock, it can wait. Take me to bed and have your wicked way with me.”

“I do so like it when you talk like a heroine in a historic romance novel,” he said as his grin widened. He hefted her slightly and then carried her out of the room as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Yes, this had been the best series of decisions she could have made, she realized, because she was happier than she had ever been before. The idea that she would die an old maid was obliterated today, replaced with the idea that she would live a long and fulfilling life with the man she had fallen head over heels in love with. That was what she wanted, and she knew that was what Sherlock would give her, and that just made her love him all the more.


End file.
